


Exodus

by littlelionlady



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Biblical References, Biblical Reinterpretation, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Gen, I did 5 years of bible study leave me alone, Not Beta Read, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious overtones, plagues of egypt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionlady/pseuds/littlelionlady
Summary: Regardless of what happens, there will be an Exodus.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Exodus

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in quarantine, i don't know what happened. this idea has been sitting on me for ages and i am not happy with how it turned out so i may reevaluate it at some point. 
> 
> i have also only watched the Good Omens tv show. the book is next on my list.

“Any more news from on high?” Crowley says casually. Aziraphale wonders, not for the first time, if Crowley has ever been anything other than casual. 

The angel bites his lip and looks away from the demon, reluctant to share news from the Almighty. He supposes it is part of the ineffable plan, that they share this information. The dance of good and evil, the balance that must be. If there is only good, there is no need for his presence of earth. 

But recently the evil has been winning. 

He shakes his head. 

“Nothing? Really? Your lot aren’t doing too well right now Angel, I must say.” 

Aziraphale can’t keep his mouth shut, “Well, what about Moses?” 

Crowley looks up from inspecting his fingernails and drops his eyeglass down his nose, “What about him? It’s nothing more than a magic trick Angel, really,” he scoffs and Aziraphale is briefly angry. 

He huffs and turns away and Crowley tuts, “What?”

“That’s the Almighty you’re speaking about,” he says and it’s Crowley’s turn to look away. He goes back to inspecting his fingernails and Aziraphale wants to shake him, to tell him much worse will happen unless Ramses lets the Canaanites go. Aziraphale wants to tell him that he can’t believe this is going to be a part of the ineffable plan. He can’t believe he’s been tasked with it; after the Eastern Gate, it rather seems to be too much. He wants Crowley to tell him it’s not so bad. Or maybe that it’s so evil that Downstairs will win. 

Crowley inspects his fingernails and Aziraphale looks out across the construction of Thebes, sweat pooling in his hairlines and running down behind his ears. 

“There’s going to be an exodus,” he says and Crowley snaps his head up, snake eyes piercing the side of Aziraphale’s face. There is a tense silence for a few moments, and then Crowley begins to laugh. 

“An exodus?” he cackles, “I highly doubt that Angel. Ramses is a stubborn bastard.” 

Aziraphale swallows and turns his gaze to meet Crowley’s, his mouth feels dry and the downward turn of his mouth causes the demon’s face to freeze and drop, his eyebrows pulling together, “Regardless of what the Pharoah does…” but he can’t get the words out. 

Crowley’s eyebrows pull up and almost disappear into his hairline, mouth forming a comical _oh,_ and the absurdity of it would make the Angel laugh if he wasn’t going to be reaping souls in the coming weeks. Hundreds of them. Thousands. 

“It’s part of the plan,” his voice shakes and he can feel his vessel’s heart rate pick up, can hear it thumping in his ears so loud that he can’t even hear his own voice as he talks. He doesn’t know if he’s whispering or shouting or even if he’s forming words. The whole plan feels surreal. It’s so _final._ And the Almighty promised after the incident with Noah and the flood that nothing that severe would need to happen again. 

Aziraphale was there for the flood; it was Noah and his family and the animals and that was it. There was water and rain and nothing else. It was peaceful for so long that Aziraphale almost grew bored with it but at least Noah and his family were good and they had each other. Together. 

This, the selectiveness, _the grief._ Aziraphale is not prepared for it. 

“When?” is all Crowley can ask. 

“A few weeks,” and this time Aziraphale knows it is a whisper, “There is much more to come first. The Almighty is only just getting started.” 

Crowley takes a deep breath, holds it, and expels it loudly, “What happened to not getting involved in the lives of mortals?” he muttered furiously, “What happened to leaving it up to us?” 

Aziraphale has to look away; he feels the anger rolling off Crowley in a continuous crackle of energy. He tries to think of something to say, anything. To tell Crowley is it necessary, that it is part of the _plan._

And this would be enough for Aziraphale, it _should be enough._ Gabriel said the Almighty said so. 

“You really aren’t going to go through with this, are you?” Crowley spits. 

Aziraphale meets his stare with a measured one of his own, “Gabriel told me this is the Almighty’s plan, Crowley. I’m not fallen, I have to follow through.”

For a moment, Aziraphale swears that Crowley might hit him. His fists clench at his sides and he breathes deeply for a few moments. 

“Are you sure thiss plan is from the Almighty, Angel?” his hiss barely passing his lips, “Thiss ssounds like ssome dirty work Gabriel would sset you up with.” 

It feels like a set up to Aziraphale; if he rises to the bait then he is admitting weakness and Gabriel and Beelzebub would appear before them and tell him that he would fall for this. 

“The Eastern Gate,” he whispers, closing his eyes and willing his heart to slow down. To stop for a moment so he can concentrate. 

“What about the fucking Eastern Gate? You ssaved Adam and Eve from being killed before thiss whole plan even sstarted!” 

Aziraphale sighs, “I’m sorry Crowley, but needs must.” 

Crowley looks stricken, “Thiss iss not good Azziraphale. Thiss iss not what an angel doess. Itss _murder_.” 

And he vanishes. 

  
  
  
  


Aziraphale rationalises that it might be easier in the dark; that if they are already scared and alone and depressed then there is not much more damage he can do. The people are resilient; he has done as Gabriel told him to do. There has been famine and pestilence, disease and now darkness. He tells Moses to have them paint their doorways in lamb’s blood, that he will come and that is how he will know to leave them. 

Moses follows his orders with blind faith. 

Aziraphale pretends not to be sickened. 

He has not seen Crowley in weeks. He tries not to focus on this. But there is little else to focus on when he is to be responsible for the reaping of so many souls caught in this stupid war. And it is, it is a stupid war. Captivity or not, there is no need for anyone to _die_ over it. Thinking about Crowley’s absence is easier than thinking about the last plague. 

So Aziraphale turns out the lights, so to speak, and tells the Canaanites to prepare their homes. 

  
  
  
  


He comes as soft white light. Perhaps it will bring small peace, but the trepidation this form feels causes the light to shudder with each twisting movement. 

He hopes that this reaping will not take long, because with each soul he collects, something cold settles where his stomach should be. His form feels heavy with guilt, and the grief of parents and spouses and children. All firstborns, even the adult ones. 

Children without parents, parents without children. New widows and widowers. Whole households now empty, excepts for a new babe. 

Aziraphale gently brushes her cheeks and wills her back to sleep. She does not need to witness this. 

He captures each soul and nestles them next to his own. He promises them safety and warmth, just like he was told to. He tells them they will have a new family, that they are all part of one big family. He tells them they are the lucky ones in all of this. 

They’re all children, in some way. Their souls are all so young. 

  
  
  


The crying begins before the daylight sets in. 

Some of it is Aziraphale’s. 

He deposits the souls and wishes them well. And they are confused but quiet. They do not know yet, what has become of their old home; they will not care when they do. 

He goes back to Thebes. He tries to tell the residents that their families are in a better place now. He is spat on and threatened. One man, whose wife and son left with Aziraphale the night before, comes at him with a dagger. He knows he deserves it. 

He puts the man to sleep and leaves Thebes.

A shock of red hair is ahead of him at the city gates. He runs towards it, holding out his hand, hoping to catch the back of the black robes, but they slip out through the gates and when he reaches the same spot, the figure is gone. 

If it was Crowley, he stayed and watched the reaping.

The idea of the demon watching his greatest failure pushes Aziraphale to his knees. He stays there, in the heat and the sand, and hopes burning is enough. He wonders if this is what hell feels like. He hopes it is. The desert is vast and hot, and he hopes with an empty feeling in his chest cavity, that it will consume him and he will not make it to the other side. But he would never be so lucky. 

He leaves, and he knows, hundreds of years from now, he will still never be able to look at this part of the world. Thebes is a ghost town.


End file.
